


Purple Haze

by CaptainSwank



Category: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Daddy Issues, M/M, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSwank/pseuds/CaptainSwank
Summary: Black Mask takes advantage of Jason and two of his weaknesses: being mind-controlled, and the Batman.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been seeing some JayRoman stuff flying around the internet and was inspired to write something immoral and self-indulgent to take place after RHatO Rebirth #5. 
> 
> Just as a warning, mind control’s pretty conceptually horrific and is of course wildly non-consensual. If that sort of thing makes you even the slightest bit uncomfortable I would strongly suggest skipping this one. Same suggestion if you find BruJay abhorrent.

It’s not looking great.

The armour on his chest is designed to stop bullets, sure, but only as a last line of defense. The sheer force of them has him laid out on the ground, winded and hurting. Black Mask has his weapon trained on him, and at this range, if he pulled the trigger there’d be nothing Jason could do. All he _can_ do now is run through his options: put his faith in Artemis and hope she can break Roman’s hold on Bizarro long enough to find him here and give him a hand, or stall for more time until he thinks of a way of disarming Black Mask before his head gets vaporized into a fine red mist.

Because his head _is_ vulnerable now: Roman had pushed the barrel of his gun against Jason’s heart, and found not for the first time the catches that released his helmet. He throws it carelessly behind him and Jason hears its loud clattering, Black Mask’s laughter, and his own gasping breath.

“The arrogance,” Roman starts as he slides his gun up Jason’s chest, up his neck to press hard into his cheek. “The size of the stones on you to think _you_ were playing _me_ …” Black Mask hits him across the face with his gun, hard, and Jason feels a fire in his jaw to match the one burning in his gut.

“Look, I know how badly you want to see them, but I think you kind of blew that chance when you shot me in the chest,” Jason grinds out, spitting blood to the side. “I mean, there’s no coming back from—” Before his vision clears Black Mask is on him, pinning him down with his weight, a glowing purple syringe in his hand. Roman gets his gloved hand around Jason’s throat and pushes the tip of the needle against his temple.

“I could kill you easy, sure,” Black Mask growls. “But I bet you’ll just find a way to claw right back out of hell again.” Jason smiles and there’s blood in his teeth.  “But between you and me, kid, I think you deserve to be punished in a way that’s a little more permanent. And a little more _fun_.” Jason feels like he’s been nailed in the chest all over again when Roman presses down against him to let him know exactly what he means.

“Listen, I don’t know how many times I’ve gotta tell you.” Jason looks Black Mask straight in his red eyes, still smiling. “I tried letting you down easy, but you don’t seem to be taking the hint. A real gentleman would have gotten the idea—” Black Mask’s fingers tighten around Jason’s throat “—or at least would’ve asked a little nicer,” he chokes out. He feels the grip on his neck loosen a little.

“I have to admit, boy, that you do have good ideas,” Black Mask says, thoughtfulness in his tone. Jason feels the sharp tip of the syringe scraping against the side of his face, and the hardness in Roman’s pants pressing against his body. “I’ll ask nicely this time, just for you. To show I _care_.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Jason deadpans, silently struggling with his internal desperation to come up with a way out of this, and fast.

“How would you like this to play out? You take care of me nice and easy, of your own free will, and afterwards when there’s no secrets left between us maybe we can… negotiate the terms of your employment.” Black Mask pricks the skin of his face with the point of the needle. “Or I can jam the techno-organic virus straight into your brain and make you. _Your choice_.” Jason smiles his widest at that, making it clear with the sharpness of his teeth that anything that comes near them will get bitten clean off.

“Hard pass,” Jason says, knows he’s running out of time. “Think I might go with what’s behind door number three. Why don’t you go and fuck _yourself_.” At the same moment that Jason tries to push Black Mask off and sit up on his knees, he feels the hard point of the needle get shoved deep inside of him. 

Everything starts to go purple.

 _No, no_ , he thinks dazedly, as Black Mask stands up before him, breathing hard from the struggle. _Just gotta…_ his thoughts are quickly slipping away from him, but there’s one in particular that looms large inside his head. The grin of Black Mask’s skull starts to falter as Jason’s shaking hand reaches into one of his holsters to grip the weapon there.  

It’s hard, it’s so hard, that one thought screaming against the gradual loss of control of his body and his mind. But he gets his hand on the grip and starts to raise the gun, and Black Mask takes a reflexive step back even though Jason’s hand is still trembling. But the hand with the gun keeps rising, and it’s as if time is slowed before the barrel of the gun comes to rest shakily against his own temple.

“Really?” Black Mask asks, grin back in place. “Would it be so terrible?” But then Roman notices the glowing red of the weapon and shakes his head. “Nope, don’t think that’ll be necessary, kid.” Jason’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing hard. One shot from this and it’ll be all over, he should be able to—

“Why don’t you put your gun down?” Roman asks, nicely. Because he _cares_.

 _Why? Why doesn’t he?_ Then something changes in Black Mask’s voice.

“You know we don’t use guns, son,” he says, dark and gravelly. Jason looks up in confusion and he’s losing it, feels like he’s falling.

“B—” Jason starts, terror in his eyes and in his heart.

“Come again?” he asks, and Jason’s mouth is forming a sound that might have been _“Bl”_ or that might have been “ _Br._ ”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” he finally manages, before he’s really lost.

“Now son, is that any way to speak to your father?” he says, putting the black leather hood back over his skull. Jason closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, they’re wild and tinged with purple.

_“I told you we were gonna have fun.”_

***

Jason’s on his knees and hot all over, staring up at the thick hard cock above him. He was asked not to move so he can’t quite reach it to put his mouth on it, but he thinks he might really, really want to.

The man standing over him told him who he was, told him his name, but Jason’s feeling kind of foggy inside. He’s not sure he remembers how he got here, how this could have happened, but he’s not sure it matters. Slippery questions float through his mind: how could he ever be allowed to have this, to allow _himself_ to have this? He tries to remember the details of their reconciliation, how the two of them could have relinquished their stubbornness and their anger. Tries to remember the series of events that would have led to his deepest and most desperate of childhood dreams made hot and real before his eyes. But every time the words try to form within his mind the look and smell of cock in front of him wipe his mind deliriously, deliciously blank.  

The man above him pushes his hips forward until there’s barely anything between the wet tip of his cock and Jason’s lips. Even under the questions something urgent’s still screaming at him, _no, don’t do this, everything’s gone wrong_. But he hears in his ears that cold dark voice telling him to _take what he wants_.

And he’s helpless to resist against what must be his desire, because he opens his mouth and pushes out his tongue and the second he gets his lips on it he moans like it’s been punched out of him. His mouth is wet for it and he doesn’t even use his hands, just savours the feeling of it heavy in his mouth, how it feels to softly suck on it like it was the sweetest candy. Before long it’s sliding deeper into his mouth, into his throat and there’s a gloved hand on the side of his face, pressing into his cheek. Jason closes his eyes and leans into it. He’s hit with a gentle wave of familiarity, as if this hand’s been on him before, flashes of a big empty bed and unfamiliar décor easily pushed out of his mind.

“You’re doing so good,” the low familiar voice says above him, realigning his focus. “Taking it so sweet.” Jason whimpers around the cock inside him, but as hot as he is something within him goes cool. It doesn’t feel right somehow, but his throat feels so full as it slides deeper into him.

“You did so well, taking down Black Mask,” the voice continues, and Jason chokes on it. God, it feels so good to hear it, but it sounds so wrong in that voice. Jason’s eyebrows knit together as he tries to look up into the mask above him for reassurance, coughing around the cock and trying to pull off.

“Hngh, always fighting _back_ —” the voice says, and two hands close around his throat. “—never listening to what I _say_ —” and he’s pushed against the wall behind him. The man’s prick is driven in as deep as it can go and Jason’s eyes roll back in his head. _That’s more like it,_ he feels deep inside himself. _That’s it,_ and all he can do is be pressed back, all he can do is let himself be used.

He takes it as long as he can, face wet and messy, little choking sounds whenever it hits the back of his throat. Just as he feels like he’ll black out from the lack of air or how hard he is in his jock, the man finally pulls out and leaves Jason empty and gasping. He falls forward and lands with his face against a hard thigh, mindlessly rubbing his cheek against silky expensive trousers as the gloved hand slides through his damp hair.

“Look at you,” the rough voice says. “What a mess you are.” Jason drops his eyes to the floor. The man drags his fingers down the side of his face, catching some of the wetness from the corners of his eyes and of his lips, pushing it into his soft and pliant mouth. “You look so good, baby, so sweet like this.” Jason lets out a sound like a little sob as the fingers explore the inside of his red and swollen mouth. “Could just keep you like this,” Jason hears over the rush in his ears. “Dress you up in those pretty little panties he used to put you in.” Jason looks broken and confused again, digs his teeth into the fingers a little which earns him the loss of those fingers and a hard wet slap.

“Does it feel good, son?” the voice asks, back to its old familiar gravel-roughness.

“ _Y-yeah_ ,” he barely gets out, shaking a bit as he says it.

“Hmm?” the voice asks.

“Yes _sir_ ,” Jason tries, as he feels the man’s cock rubbing gentle against his cheek. “Yes _Daddy_ ,” Jason moans, before it gets shoved back inside of him.

“ _Fuck_ , if this is what the guy does to all his little disciples, maybe he should be the one in Arkham instead of _me_ ,” the voice says, fucking Jason hard again, not giving him a second to think about who’s talking to him this time. “God, but he definitely never had you like this, or he never would’ve let you go.” Jason whimpers at that but those hands stroke him and the cock fills him and the voice whispers to him that he’s okay, and the voice starts moaning louder and louder and the cock starts moving harder and harder and above him it barely barks out:

“ _Say my name, boy,”_ as a gloved hand grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back and off the cock, hard.

“ _Batman_ ,” Jason moans, like he’s dying.

“My _name_ , say it!” the voice commands, and Jason’s skin glows sick and purple.

“B-” he starts, but the door to his safehouse is blown open, and a hulking tall shadow blocks the intruding light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because YOU demanded it, JayRoman Mind Control: The Sequel! Or Continuation! Back, and more fucked up than ever!!!

That huge and imposing figure bursts through his door but Jason can’t turn his neck to see his saviour, because Roman’s reaching out to grip his chin like steel. He holds his face still and his mouth open with one hand while he jacks himself hard with the other. 

So Jason can’t wrench his head away even if he had a mind to, and Black Mask comes all over him, thick and hot over his cheeks and nose, into his eyelashes, raw pulses onto his lips and tongue. The shadow at the other side of the room must be frozen by what it’s seen, uncharacteristically shocked out of instant movement for enough time for Roman to put himself away and for Jason to wipe his eyes, and swallow.

Jason falls forward, on his hands and knees now with his head heavy and bent low, so he can only hear Black Mask talking.

“Well ain’t this a shocker,” he drawls. “Weren’t you brought up to greet the new guest at a party, boy?” Black Mask puts the pointed toe of one expensive, Italian leather shoe up on Jason’s shoulder and pushes carelessly.

Deep inside him, Jason knows that getting up and facing Batman is the last thing that he wants right now. If he could just stay here, a dirty shaking mess on his floor, and never have to look Bruce in the eye again…

But he can’t. At Black Mask’s request, he can’t. So he pulls himself up and he looks right at Batman, inscrutable as always behind the cowl.

“Now I wouldn’t come any closer,” Black Mask is saying, and he knows there’s a gun trained on him again. Batman’s still frozen in place, poised for action, and Jason knows that awesome, awful mind of his must be half a second away from a flawless plan of attack to disarm Roman so they can both take him down.

Black Mask seems to know this too.

Because even as Jason reads the subtle signals that would be imperceptible to anyone outside of the family, even as he gets his hand on his gun and begins to follow Bruce’s silent orders, new instructions supplant the old ones buried deep in his programming. It seems like time has slowed just for Jason, just so he can feel the agony of the acid in his gut and the fire in his lungs for every millisecond that it takes for him to turn his own gun on Bruce.

Black Mask holsters his weapon and steps all up into Jason’s space, whispers to him _well done_ and _yeah, just like that_. Bruce just stares impassively as always, seemingly unfazed by this danger, this degradation, this betrayal. Jason realizes it’s because Bruce can’t know, is still giving him the one last chance he begged for, still holds on to hope that Jason’s just in deep deep cover and that this is one final ploy to mislead Black Mask. Time still feeling slowed, Jason can see the way the rest of this scene plays out: with a bullet in Bruce and the last of that trust all shot to hell.

All Jason can do is silently scream, trapped inside himself and unable to tell Bruce _no, you fucking fool, this is real, get out of here alive and leave me ruined with him_. But the only words in the room come out of Roman.

“Now would you look at that, _Jason_ ,” Black Mask says deliberately. “Looks like the Bat doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. But you know that old saying, _blind as a_ , etcetera etcetera,” he finishes conversationally. Batman sees his former sidekick armed but his opponent open and reaches into his utility belt for whichever fantastic gadget will save this day. But in that second he thinks he has before he needs to use it, Black Mask says in Jason’s ear loud and clear,

“ _Shoot him if he moves_.”

Jason stands with his legs spread and his gun on Bruce, not even allowed the mercy of letting his hands shake. He knows what Bruce sees: not for the first time, his son standing there with a gun trained on him and their enemy behind him, the cost of this encounter being somebody’s life. But clearly he still believes in Jason, still believes he’s the one holding Jason’s leash because he does move, and Jason pulls the trigger.

He may not have believed Jason would do it, but he’s still Batman, so he manages to take it full in the chest, on the Bat where he’s armored the most. But just like Jason at the start of all this he’s still taken a bullet to the chest, and he’s dropped to one knee and winded.

“ _Jason_ ,” Batman says, hurt like that night with the mayor, hurt deep in his chest where the bullet couldn’t go.

Black Mask laughs.

“Do I sense the barest hint of regret here, Batman? Are we rethinking the wisdom of letting a skilled solider like this one go, maybe?” Jason hurts at that word, though only inside, and Roman puts his hands on Jason’s shoulders like he could rub the tension and the tightness out of them. Batman narrows his eyes and Jason doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“Well I do think it’s too late now, this merchandise is final sale, no exchanges or refunds. Though I’m sure you wouldn’t want it back once it’s been _used_.” Jason can’t breathe; doesn’t know how Roman picks these words that cut him places that knives can’t reach. Batman grunts in a way he doesn’t have the air to interpret right now, tries to make a move forward but Jason’s finger tightens on the trigger of the weapon still trained on him. Batman stills, and Black Mask continues.

“No, the boy is _mine_ now, he belongs to me,” Black Mask says, putting a possessive fist in Jason’s hair, and he can’t even flinch. “As you can clearly see. And do you know why?” he asks. They’re both forced to listen as Black Mask tells them. “It’s actually pretty simple, even if the World’s Greatest Detective couldn’t see it.” Roman moves his hand down to hold Jason by the back of his neck. “ _It’s because I gave him what he wants_ ,” he says. “Gave him what he _needs_ ,” he continues. “Now isn’t that right, son?” Black Mask gives Jason neither the chance nor the order to respond, just takes his hand off his neck and runs it slowly around his hip to the front of his pants.

“You could have had this,” Roman says as Jason feels the hard pressure against his jock. “Could’ve had this _easy,_ ” he laughs, and Jason would’ve given anything for the rage inside of him to burn hotter than the shame, burn so hot it engulfed it, overpowered it.

He’s still hard in his cup. He never came after getting his face fucked sloppy by Roman.

“And do you know what the trick is? You and me, I know we love it, but it can’t all be whips and chains twenty-four seven.” Jason’s breath catches and he can hear the creak of the leather gauntlets as Bruce clenches and unclenches his fists. “It can be tempting, I know, but the carrot has about as much place as the _stick_ ,” he says, as he presses himself up against Jason from behind. “A firm hand but a soft touch—” he squeezes Jason “—lots of pain, yes, but a little _pleasure_. But I guess you blew your shot,” Black Mask sighs. “And now he’s mine. I'm thinking the body armour could use a redesign. Lose the red bat, throw on a black skull? No? Not a fan?" he asks. "Well, it's no big deal, I suppose. _Kill him_ ,” he orders, and so Jason pulls the trigger again.

Batman’s ready this time; he knows it’s all for real now and is subsequently prepared. He rolls to the side and the bullet ricochets off the ground, and with inhuman speed he’s on his feet and trying to close in on Jason to take away his advantage at range. But Jason’s advantage reaches farther than the distance his gun can shoot – he’s had more time to recover and Bruce has only recently taken one in the chest. He gets a couple more shots away, each one a closer shave than the last, all the while still locked within the cage of his body, uselessly beating his fists against its bars.

But Batman’s the best and he closes the gap quickly, sacrifices defense to gain ground and Jason takes the opportunity to hit him hard with his gun, connect the fist of his other hand with Bruce’s jaw. But Bruce returns that punch and more, landing body blows that would break ribs without Jason’s armor, and gets him in the face with what Jason knows is his full strength. It hurts him inside about as much as it does out, and he needs to scream at Batman that he’s got his target all wrong. But there’s too much noise inside Jason’s head for him to realize that Black Mask had blinded Bruce with so much rage that he hasn’t figured it out yet, is just trying to take Jason down with all his skill.

He might not get the nuance of it but Jason still sees the rage clear enough to capitalize upon it. Every time Bruce proves himself to be less than infallible, less than invincible, a bright thing inside of Jason breaks and shatters a little more, but such weakness still gives him an opening to take out Batman’s legs from under him. Jason gives everything he has, one last burst of power to try and resist Black Mask’s control, but just like his mentor he must be too weak too, and he ends up kneeling over Bruce, thighs spread, gun against his forehead. Black Mask watches them together and laughs and laughs.

“Jason, _please_ ,” Batman begs, he _begs_! And they’re both breathing heavy and Jason thinks about the times Bruce’s been alive when he wished he was dead, been dead when he wished he was alive, but before he can try and shut down inside himself before he pulls the trigger one last time he sees a look of recognition even behind the lenses of the cowl. Jason sees a purple glow reflect off the mask of the man beneath him and before his tethered body can do anything a Batarang has hit Roman right on his black skull. In that brief moment of broken concentration Bruce throws Jason off of him and leaps onto Black Mask, and now his hold on Jason is so shaken that he feels in control again. Bruce immobilizes him and gives Jason an opening to hit him and hit him and hit him until he feels himself falling into blackness.

***

When Jason lurches back into wakefulness he is immediately aware of being shirtless in a big empty bed in a big fancy room, and the familiarity of the situation rips into him like poisoned claws. He tries to steady his breathing before he tries to find his way out of there, but it must be the panic bursting from his chest in sharp gasps that lures a concerned shadow out of a corner of the room.

“ _Jason_ ,” Bruce says, still in the batsuit, voice tinged with emotions that he doesn’t think he can deal with right now. He moves towards Jason and sits on the bed, and something terrible inside Jason makes him back away minutely towards the headboard. Bruce doesn’t make a move to get any closer, but worry still creases his brow.

“We have to run some tests,” he starts. “We still don’t know the extent of the damage the techno-organic virus has inflicted, permanently or otherwise, on your physical and mental—”

“I’m fine,” Jason says, because that’s what they always say and none of them ever learn. They stare at each other for a moment before Bruce says, shockingly:

“I’m sorry.”

Jason stares at him a little longer.

“You’re—?!” Jason fists his hands in his hair. “I fucking _shot_ you!”

“No, but I—” Bruce reaches out his hand towards Jason’s bruised face, a horrible deep purple where Batman slugged him. Jason flinches away again; hates that he can’t seem to help it. “Jason,” Bruce starts, taking a deep breath. “The things he… said about us—”

“ _No_ ,” Jason says, as if all the anger forcibly locked away inside his puppet’s body was released in one ominous syllable. They won’t talk about that now, not ever. He throws off the covers and ends up in the relative safety of the other side of the bed, pulling on the shirt waiting for him there.

“No,” he tries again. “It’s… not that.” And it isn’t, it actually isn’t, and confusion is such a rare look on Bruce, and it looks ugly. Jason tries to summon a smile from someplace, tries to play it off lightly.

“Hey, would you...” he starts, but breathing’s hard. “...Why don’t you tell me something only the _real_ Batman would say?”

There’s a long pause again and Jason reads it as continued confusion. He doesn’t know that Bruce is still thinking about what Black Mask said, words that hit that soft part of him where blame and guilt have grown.

“You… you did so well, helping me take down Black Mask,” he says, and those words in that order, so close to what he’d heard before, just about do it. Jason can’t breathe, he can barely _see_ , the tightness in his chest and throat and guts so hot and clenching he falls back against the wall near the window. He stares wild-eyed at Bruce’s black mask and grips the windowsill with cold white fingers.

Bruce makes a move towards him but Jason’s pushed open the window and is out into the night.

***

Jason runs for a long time, steals bikes and burns through the city, books it until he finds a safehouse far on the outskirts of town, one he’s sure that’s known to nobody. He’s set records for exhaustion in his life but this is up there, and he drops himself onto the mattress so sweaty and spent. He lies there and breathes now that he can breathe again, stares into the darkness and tries to catch his balance. Tries to find a centre but all he finds is this: On his knees in front of Black Mask, fighting the Batman, open and vulnerable in Bruce’s bed, here lying in his own and —he’s hard. He hadn’t come through any of it and his stupid hungry body’s never felt so desperate. Even over the fatigue that threatens his drowning his body is hot and pulsing for release.

He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to give in like this, but whether his body wanted to or not he knows it was subjected to fantasy after fucking fantasy even against his will. He turns over and presses his hips against the bed and tries not to think. Tries not to, not now, not fucking now, go straight to what always gets him off the fastest and the hardest.

To Bruce, to Batman, pressing down hard against him even here. How he might hold him down and take him apart, how he’d run those leather gloves over every part of him, his bare arms, his bare legs. Jason moans. And he’d push aside his shorts and—

Jason stops rubbing against the bed and turns back over, lost to it now as he gets his hand on his cock. Right, he’d run those gloved hands up under his tunic, his shirt, his armor, whatever, up to his neck—Jason puts the fingers of his other hand around his throat – and those gauntlets would… those gauntlets… those black gloves? Jason’s eyes snap open but he doesn’t stop jacking his cock, chokes a little because one moment he’s seeing the white eyes of a cowl, and the next, red eyes in a skull.

Fingers tightening around his neck? A collar tightening around his neck? He jerks himself faster and he just can’t tell which hand is pulling his hair. God, he has to stop, he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to think about that hard cock in his mouth again, hear those sweet and filthy fucking words in his head. But he feels his mouth getting wet, feels himself getting close.

And an image paints itself unbidden in his mind: his throat stuffed full and the smell of expensive cologne and Italian leather, and his ass fucked hard to the sound of softly creaking armor.  

And he comes, finally, sobbing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason tries to reassert a little control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive, apparently! A part three is yours, but how much punishment can one guy take?

Jason flicks his cigarette off the side of the roof he’s been lurking on, and whispers a quiet little _fuck_ under his breath when he sees it. His intel had told him that Bruce was still supposed to be off the fucking _planet_ for the next few days— it was Jason’s understanding that the streets of Gotham were under the protection of Bruce’s protégés until he got back from the Watchtower with the League.

But there it is, up in the sky: the unmistakable harsh yellow glow of the Bat-Signal.

Jason feels his heart start to race but can’t seem to do anything to stop it. When he was still in green panties he couldn’t see it without the electric prickling of his skin. But the tightness he feels tonight doesn’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel good at all.

It’s fine, though, he’s going to be fine. Bruce’s unexpected return puts a damper on the nocturnal activities he had planned for this week, but he can deal. He tries to tell himself that he could probably even use a vacation after everything, or literally any one thing that’s happened to him lately. He heads out over the rooftops towards his most secret safehouse and he tries to convince himself that he won’t be reacquainted with death if he stops working for a second, like a shark that stops swimming.

He drops off a fire escape and lands in front of the entrance to his temporary home and doesn’t even get a chance to activate the mechanism that reveals its hidden door before he feels it. If he was just a common criminal like they say he wouldn’t even have noticed; wouldn’t have even had time for the fear to start poisoning his heart. But he’s Jason Peter Todd, former Robin and current Red Hood, and the smell and sound and _feel_ of Bruce there, swirling thick within the shadows, is as strong and obvious to him as it was those nights they were in the cave together.

“Fuck off,” he tells the shadows, like maybe anger and cruelty will actually make Bruce leave before a conflict intensifies, instead of sparking those same feelings within the Batman. Those same feelings, but pushed deep down underneath choking concern, and oppressive pity.

“Jason,” Batman says, and he hears none of those emotions, doesn’t hear any emotion at all. And he won’t, Jason decides, won’t let Batman direct any at him tonight. He feels that rage that he carries with him like his guns and his armor and his red red helmet, and he feels it stoked and strengthened by the presence of this man who refuses to allow him his space and his privacy and won’t leave him the fuck _alone_ when he asks him to. And because Jason’s spent a lifetime harnessing the strength of this powerful weapon, much of it without Bruce’s guidance, he can react fast enough when Batman reaches out of the darkness to try and put a gauntlet on his shoulder. He can be smart enough to instinctively know where to aim the blow to a secret weakness in Batman’s armor. And he can be strong and powerful enough to put enough force behind it that it knocks Batman sufficiently off balance to follow up on his attack. Batman doesn’t say his name again, just absorbs the force of the second elbow against his body and blocks the punch that comes behind it.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” he says as he blocks the next kick too, the next fist that threatens to bruise his jaw. Every little thing that Batman does fuels the raging heat burning within Jason: that he’s holding back, blocking as often as he’s pulling his punches. That he can’t bring himself to come out and say that he just needs to talk to Jason, to find out if he’s okay. That he _wants_ to, and Jason can’t allow that, has no words for Bruce about how very okay he isn’t right now. So he rolls backwards into the dirty alleyway, buying himself some space and time to draw his weapon.

Very little about this is doing anything to make him feel any better, but the minute twitch in Batman’s jaw every time he sees the man who was once his boy pull a gun on him really does something to Jason. But however Bruce feels about it it’s _still_ not enough to make him get the message, and he works to destroy the space between the two of them again, using his cape and his batarangs to throw off Jason’s deadly aim.

Jason tries to collect himself as he aims to incapacitate Bruce, to hurt him enough that he’ll be forced to retreat for tonight, and maybe every other night after this one. He catalogues all the ways he can prove to himself that each bullet he fires at his former mentor right now is a bullet that _he_ wants to put there; that it’s his brain sending messages to his fingers, that it’s his finger on the trigger. That he’s shooting at the right figure in black right now, because no other man moves like that.

“Jason, _please_ ,” and there’s that tone hits him harder than a fist, that note of worry that reminds Jason that Batman had seen him fail, seen him break, seen him dirtied and used. That Batman knows firsthand that Jason’s _weak_ , couldn’t save himself again and needed a dark rescuer—

But that wasn’t right, was it? Batman didn’t save him this time, didn’t save him again and stop him from being humiliated and hurt by another one of his longstanding enemies. And enemy who couldn’t have done that to Jason if he’d have been _dead_ —

And Jason is once again reminded of the limitations of the secret weapon of his rage, that he can use it for deadly effect as long as he has control, but that’s the bitch isn’t it, that’s what the goddamn Batman always preached: the difficulty of controlling all that power. In the moment in which Jason is almost blinded by his anger Batman is on him, knocking him bodily to the ground with all his weight, seemingly no longer worried about holding back his aggression now that he needs to subdue Jason, or maybe because he started shooting at him. Jason cries out from the crushing weight on his wrists and on his chest. They’re breathing hard for a minute, faces too close together as both men try to plan their next move, and all the moves after that.

“Why did you run from me that night,” Batman wants to know.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason replies, though of course the Batman is never kidding anyone. He tries to shove Batman off him and it’s enraging how ineffectual his efforts are to move him. “It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Jason grunts, with another try at a push.

“It’s the _only thing_ that matters. I saw—”

Jason headbutts him in the face with everything’s he’s got before he’s made to relive and acknowledge exactly what it was Batman saw that night. Batman shakes it off like it barely hurts him, only stares down at Jason with eyes unreadable behind the lenses of the cowl.

“Jason,” he tries again, and not even that little thrill he gets when he makes Batman go even the slightest bit unprofessional and use real names in the field is helping to steady him inside now.

“What do you want from me?”

And he loves and hates in equal measure how he can do this to Bruce so easily: how he can break him of his famous stoicism and his composure, how it feels to smash cracks into the living statue. He would do anything to get anything from this man, even if oozes hot out of a wound that he put there. But that’s one question that goes too far. What does he want from him? Jason had always sworn that Bruce won’t know, can’t know the one thing he’s wanted from him since he first met him that bright day in Crime Alley.  But everything’s so broken and strange after Black Mask fucked with his head, fucked his mouth and Bruce saw. Jason looks straight into the lenses of Batman’s mask and knows he can’t hide the pleading and the open desperation in his eyes, the look that holds the one word answer to that big question.

 _Everything_.

“Jason,” Batman says, for the final time tonight. He holds the silence for a bit longer as he looks down at him, maybe uncomprehending, maybe buying time, maybe corralling and tempering his revulsion and disgust. Jason watches the Detective slowly shake his head and it feels like all the life inside him is leaving for the second time.

“You’re—my _son_ ,” he starts, and that’s all Jason needs to hear, a perfect confirmation of everything he’s been sure of his whole adult life. A few words of assurance that he’ll spend the rest of his time on earth drowning, spend it choking and burning now that Black Mask has given him the smallest taste of what it’s like to have Bruce’s love the way he needs it. Maybe it would have been sweeter to be trapped in Black Mask’s mindfuck world forever, believing he was on his knees and servicing another, greater man the whole time. But instead he’s caught in this dark reality, trapped under Batman for a few moments longer before the devastation within him gives him just enough strength to throw the man off, to drop a smoke bomb and run. To disappear into the night with the knowledge within him that he’ll be rejected, unwanted by Batman every single time.

***

 Sometimes Jason feels like he’s always running. Running to catch up on what he’s missed, to catch up after he’s been left behind. Running away, he knows, in his weaker moments. But tonight he feels like he’s running _to_ something, and he revs his motorcycle to hear her growl just like he wants to.  

After he lost Bruce ( _if he ever even followed, as if he’d ever want to see Jason again_ ) he’d ran to the outskirts of town to a bunker that housed his bikes. The original plan was to leave Gotham, maybe permanently, but he just couldn’t do it, couldn’t leave the city with business unfinished. It didn’t take too long for him to remember that slamming his fists into flesh always feels better than cutting his knuckles on rough brick. He knew exactly what might make him feel better, might make him feel good one last time before he left Bruce forever, again.

He glides through the city to Black Mask’s base of operations. He knows where it is. He knows Roman is there. Despite the dirt Batman had on him, someone with Roman’s cash and clout doesn’t stay in Arkham for more than twenty four hours. Jason knows this. Bruce knows this. Jason wears a secret smile under the helmet as he promises himself that while he may have failed to stop the Joker from inflicting himself upon any other human, he’s got another chance with Roman. He’ll spare Bruce the ensuing discussion, this time.

When he reaches Black Mask’s compound, he spends the evening meticulously scoping out the building. He’d downloaded a copy of the floorplan into the helmet, and its built-in sensors help him note the number and nature of the hostiles. Jason grins again, all smiles tonight, as he notices no metas, just men. Expertly trained to be sure, but just human. _Less than human_ , Jason reminds himself, as he checks his weapons one final time before slipping into a grating in the ceiling. A handful of guards, just filth to be put down.

And he’s the Red Hood.

The first two guys go down easy. They don’t know he’s there, are choked out and smothered before they can raise an alarm. Jason stalks down the darkened hall, brazen in his knowledge of where the next guards will be found. He clears the next room quick, putting a bullet between the eyes of every man in it, reveling in his efficiency and the efficacy of the new suppressor of his own design. The more bodies he leaves behind him, the more blood he leaves burst onto the walls, the hotter his own feels inside of him. There’s nothing quite like justice dealt out with his own two hands, the knowledge that the human garbage he’s eliminated can never hurt again. By the time he’s approaching the final hallway to Black Mask’s private rooms, he almost feels like he’s flying the way he used to over rooftops. He blows the brains out of the last couple of guards before kicking Roman’s doors down.

“Fuck, I was right!” he exults, as Black Mask looks up from his tax evasion or whatever. “Blasting the heads off all your guys _does_ make me feel better,” he says as takes off his helmet and throws it to the ground. Black Mask grins, or presumably he grins, because grinning does seem to be the neutral expression on his ugly fucking skull face. He tries to reach for his own piece to protect himself, but Jason is up and over his desk, one hand around his throat as he pulls Roman out of his chair and slams him hard up against the wall. “But nothing’s gonna feel as good as _this_ ,” he whispers, as he presses the muzzle of his gun to Black Mask’s forehead. But Roman doesn’t seem worried about the gun in his face. He only smiles a little more.

“Real nice, kid, but I think that’s plenty foreplay for now. Why don’t you cut the cute stuff so we can move on to the main event?” Black Mask’s tone is light even as he chokes the words out from underneath the grasp of Jason’s strong fingers.

“You really wanna die that badly, Roman?” Jason eases his grip the tiniest bit, not wanting to miss a second of it if Black Mask is seriously ready to beg for it.

“ _Die?_ Are you for real? You really expect me to believe for one hot minute that you came all the way here, put all of my men down, to fucking _off_ me?” Black Mask laughs and Jason’s hit with the sudden certainty that a bullet is too fast a way to go for this guy.

“I’ll give you one chance to tell me what the _fuck_ you’re on about before I take out your goddamn kneecaps,” Jason says, shaking Roman by the throat a little. Black Mask, damn him, just keeps laughing.

“Boy, I know you’re brighter than this. Wouldn’t have promised you a spot ruling Gotham’s underworld by my side if you weren’t. So it’s not that you’re stupid, but it might be that you’re scared. Can’t be that you’re shy, I’ve already seen you—”

Jason hits him across the face with his gun and slams him against the wall so hard his black skull snaps back and bounces off the gaudy wallpaper.

“And _there_ goes your one chance! I will _end_ you, you—”

“Will you now? And why haven’t you _yet_?” Black Mask asks.

“Because I have all _night_ to make you hurt first, and –”

“ _How’s Batman_?” And normally Jason would have the mask to obscure his features; had come to rely on it maybe too much to hide his face when holding back his depth of feeling became too tall a task. So there’s no way Black Mask didn’t catch whatever passes over him at the sound of the name. Black Mask continues in that moment Jason needs to bring himself back under his own control.

“You two didn’t have a nice little talk after sending me off for a pleasant afternoon at the Asylum? He didn’t sweep his little princess off her feet and take her back to his castle, wherever that may be? Don’t think I didn’t see you faint dead away before he beat my lights out,” Black Mask says in singsong mockery.

“Shut up,” Jason grinds out, low and under his breath.

“So he didn’t lay you out on his big old bed, didn’t watch you _spread_ for him, didn’t take you back and mark up the property that rightfully belongs to him?” Roman whispers, seductive.

“I said shut the _fuck_ up,” Jason repeats. The rush in his head is so loud that he doesn’t notice his hand with the gun in it is shaking. Roman does.

“No, you see I don’t think that he did, _boy_.” Now he’s whispering as quiet as can be. “I think he took one look at you, all dirty and used, and didn’t quite like what he saw.” Jason’s breathing so hard now. “I don’t think he did any of those things.” A wet little noise finds its way out of Jason’s throat. “ _And I think you know he never will_.” Black Mask raises one gloved hand real slow, and lays it on Jason’s cheek. Jason lets him. “Kid, I think you know _exactly_ why you came running back to me. You really think you can live without him now? After what you know you need?” He rubs his fingers gently across Jason’s cheekbone. “After what I showed you you could have?”

It takes a second but Jason’s shaking hand, the one with the gun, is moving. And it moves to place the gun against his own temple, just like before, except this time his gun is loaded with real bullets, deadly ammunition, not the cure for Black Mask’s disease.

“No, no, son,” Black Mask murmurs, gentle as his fingers. “I think you’ve got another choice here.” _Choice?_ Jason looks up into Roman’s red eyes.

“ _No_ ,” he whispers, wide-eyed as he shakes his head slowly.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Black Mask says, words wet with poisoned consolation. “They say the virus might have some… long term effects, you know.” As he says those final words he runs his knuckles down the side of Jason’s face. He leaves his hand on his chin and his thumb on his lip.

Jason’s hand drops to his side. His gun falls to the floor with a loud echoing crash.

***  
Black mask is sliding thick wet fingers into him. He’s draped over him, gloveless but still in his immaculate suit, to be better able to whisper words into Jason’s ear.

“I should turn you over, make you look at my face when I do it,” he says, and Jason moans out a high sound of panic. Black Mask _shh_ s him with gentle condescension. “But I won’t. I know what you need,” he says, fingers a rough counterpoint to his voice. “And I’d _love_ to have you back again,” he laughs, biting hard on Jason’s ear while he shakes and sobs underneath him.

“Yes, tonight you get what you want,” Black Mask continues, leaning back and raking the nails of his other hand down Jason’s bare back, leaving red angry marks. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t start planning for the next time and the next, now that I have you.” Jason wants to deny he belongs to any man but himself, but that’s when Roman adds another finger.

“It’s a damn shame you took out all my guys, we could have had some fun with _them_. Look how sweet and easy you take three fingers now. Can’t imagine you’d have trouble with all of that cock.” He presses down and Jason heats up, can’t stop his traitor bastard voice from crying out his pleasure. “Yeah? Well, you know I always know where to get more.” Jason’s arms collapse from underneath him and he falls face down into the sheets. He feels them wet under his face as Black Mask tells him how much fun that’d be to _watch_.

“And you know who else I might extend an invitation to? Know who’d really be dying to see you a starving desperate mess like this?” Jason presses his face into the mattress harder, trying to will the pulsing goodness inside him to overwhelm the terrible words in his ears. “Yeah, I know you do.” Roman keeps up a steady, even rhythm with his fingers, stroking and pushing against that shocking source of ecstasy inside him.

“No, no he w—” Jason tries to fight at least this, this blasphemy in bed, this final fall from which he knows he’ll never recover. Roman reaches around with his other hand to slide it around Jason’s burning hot cock in time with the fingers inside of him.

“God, I bet he fucks the way he fights, huh? That’s what gets you hot, am I wrong? When he holds you down and hurts you? That what you need? ‘Cause I can make it happen—” Jason writhes against Roman’s hands, trying to banish the crystal clear image from his mind.

“No, stop—” And Black Mask does. Just holds his fingers inside Jason and keeps whispering to him.

“Think he’d stop if you begged him like that?” he murmurs, so quiet. “He’d be a gentleman and let you go? Or would he just push you down, press you down, and fuck you raw until he’d had enough?”

Jason sobs harder, clenches and flexes and tries to push back against Roman’s fingers, to get them stroking him again, wanting and needing to come around something hotter and thicker and pounding into him. But Black Mask won’t move, has even stilled the hand around his cock as well.

Jason moans something, some semblance of human language, broken and cracked into the bed.

“Come again?” Black Mask asks, and Jason can barely breathe.

“ _Please_ ,” he says, and Roman slips his fingers free.

“Hm?” He gets up on his knees and unzips his pressed trousers, pulls his cock out of his silken underthings and lets Jason feel how thick and long it is.

“ _Pl-please fuck me_ ,” Jason finally asks.

“Knew you’d beg,” Roman says, and pushes in slow.

Jason almost cries for it, body completely taken by the feeling of being filled so full. He can’t think, can only feel reactions to every stimulus. There’s heat, and pleasure, and mindless gratitude for Black Mask’s mercy: for giving him cock, and for finally falling silent.

Without Roman’s tormenting words Jason’s finally free, free to close his eyes and go somewhere else, to a different bed with a million thread count sheets, with different hard hands squeezing his hips, with a different cock fucking him brainless. But it’s so hard to, with Roman’s words so fresh inside him, and every time he tries to imagine Bruce behind him he’s suddenly in front of him, watching like Black Mask said. Watching Jason get used and debased, just like he asked for. _Begged_ for. Jason moans and Black Mask fucks him harder, each thrust pushing him further up the bed.

He can’t escape it, that thought of Bruce sitting there, watching his defilement as he just lets Black Mask take and take and take. He’s shuddering and shivering around the cock inside him now, panting and moaning into the mattress. Roman’s fucking him harder now too, and his mouth waters and feels so empty as he thinks about Batman sitting so close within reach in the room. Bruce wouldn’t touch him now, of course, but maybe he’d come over, take out his cock. Jason’s whole body feels like it’s burning up, ready to explode outward and shatter into a million wretched pieces.

Bruce would never let something like Jason touch him, but maybe he’d show him one final act of kindness before leaving forever, might take out that cock and see Jason open and hungry and wanting, might know he has one final use left, and while Roman’s fucking him might come into his mouth, let him drink it down.

Jason loses it hard.

After that he sinks down, whole body melting into the mattress as Black Mask continues to fuck him hard and deep. He’s cocooned in this soft world of pleasure while he takes it, but suddenly he feels a hand close around his throat.

“You- you know what?” Black Mask pants, breathing hard. “You got what you want, and I- I think it’s my turn now, kiddo. Wake up,” he commands, roughly squeezing Jason. “Wake up, boy, and tell me who you’re here with.” Jason’s eyelids flutter, dragged back into reality from the sweet ache inside his body, around his neck.

“I—” Jason starts, head going light and soft from the lack of air.

“ _Tell_ me!” Black Mask demands, his thrusts getting so fast and frantic. “Say my name, _my_ name!” Roman gets out through clenched teeth, pounding his way into Jason’s body. God, Jason might be fucked out but he knows where he is, knows who he’s with, knows who he belongs to and knows who he’ll never get to have.

“ _Roman_ ,” he says, and Black Mask fills him with his come.

***

In the cold damp dark of the Batcave, Batman sits on a sterile table. Alfred is tending to a bullet wound, a shallow graze that nonetheless ripped through the flesh of his upper arm. As Alfred finishes his stitching and cleaning and is covering it up, he looks down at the injury with pursed lips pressed tight together. He looks hard at the damage to Batman’s arm, sees that the bullet came from someone who could break through defences that often seem impenetrable. He sees the black look in Baman’s eyes.

“And what will you do with Master Jason this time, Master Bruce?”

Batman scrubs both his hands over his unshaven face, and leaves his head in his hands.

“I don’t know, Alfred. I don’t know.”


End file.
